


Transcript of the lines that were found in the sand

by Beatrice_Sank



Category: Strandbeest (Theo Jansen), Undisclosed Fandom
Genre: (but take maybe three minutes to look at the Beasts first), Archaeology, Body Modification, Don't Have to Know Canon, Evolution, In-Universe Translation, Non-Linear Narrative, Original Mythology, Other, Self-Discovery, Worldbuilding, Xenolinguistics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28131720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Sank/pseuds/Beatrice_Sank
Summary: Written for the prompt: "A world where life is just wind stomachs and sandy joints, and the tide that can catch you unaware.""Note of the Translator : You will find here a transcription of the different markings our research team has been able to collect during their third expedition to the Surface. Those texts all date from the Pre-Hydropsam Era: they consisted, in their original form, of lines of varying depth and pattern inscribed in the layers of sand that cover our of area of investigation."This is a story about evolution.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Transcript of the lines that were found in the sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



> Thanks for this inspiring prompt, I wish you the best of Yuletide, it was a pleasure to write for you!
> 
> Videos and pictures of the various beasts featured here (for our main cast: Suspendisse, Uminami, Ader, Mulus and Vulgaris) can be found here: https://www.strandbeest.com/genealogy. They are, of course, beautiful.

"I had to write about the flower's journey."  
Charlie Kauffman, _Adaptation_

"Oh, the wind and rain."  
 _The Twa Sisters_ , Traditional ballad

**Note of the Translator:**

You will find here a transcription of the different markings our research team has been able to collect during their third expedition to the Surface. Those texts all date from the Pre-Hydropsam Era: they consisted, in their original form, of lines of varying depth and pattern inscribed in the layers of sand that cover our of area of investigation. They are thought to have been the main, if not the sole mode of communication in use during that period. The Beach, as far as we are able to map it, has no known boundaries, but more recent markings from previous expedition suggest that a separate Aderian language may have been in formation even before the mass migration that marked the beginning of the Hydropsam: unfortunately, those are still in the early stages of translation, but specialists believe that further analysis may reveal information about the configuration of this realm from an aerial view.

The various fragments have been arranged in an order that is not strictly chronological, but aims to reproduce their geographical situation in relation to each other. The two main sections, that of the Suspendisses and that of the Broken Uminami frequently intersected, but seem to ignore one another completely, which would indicate that they are not contemporary, although our attempts at dating led us to think that the temporal gap between them is very small. The Suspendisses section was extremely precious in providing coordinates for a number of more ancient markings, most of which we were able to locate (with the exception of the ‘Immobile Giant’ legend, whose sites only revealed blank patches of sand). They seem to form a body of more or less mythical texts, although the line between facts and fiction is, as often is those cases, difficult to trace and easily blurred.

Nevertheless, the Suspendisses Transcript’s historicity is sufficiently attested by the accuracy with which it identifies other texts, as well as the earnestness of its style. Despite the inevitably quaint nature of some of the ideas it expresses, I have to confess that I was deeply moved by its reading, and couldn’t help but feel a sense of kinship for what I imagine to be fellow archaeologists. It as enlightening as it is tragic, no matter how many years and what physical differences separate us from its authors.

Opinions vary over the nature of the Uminami Transcript, but if I’m allowed to express a personal opinion (one that will, I think, inevitably show throughout this translation), I believe it to be an extraordinary document of natural history.

Please bear in mind as you read that due to the limitations of our sensors, some nuances may have been lost in the conversion of the sand marks. Besides, many of the daily experiences evoked here are unfamiliar to us, strange in their otherness. Despite all the efforts that were put in retrieving the breath of the original language, this translation doesn’t take into account the specific phrasing of the different writers, an expressive feature that is quite foreign to our own way of communicating. To help bridge that gap, I’ve indicated several combinations of wind instruments next to each transcript: their content would be better understood if the reader imagined them played accordingly. Aerophones are rarely used in composition these days, for obvious practical reasons, but if you’ve been to a cave concert once in your life, you’ve probably heard most of them.

** 1 st Transcript:  Chorus of the Vulgaris  **

**( A thousand and one ocarinas in the heart of a storm )**

“We are the creatures of the Wind,

And the Tide, and the Tide, and the Tide

Will come for Us one day.

We are the hands of the shadows that move Us

We are

We are more than the sum of Our

Parts

And still the wind calls

And still the wind promises

That We will come

And We will go

One day.

And still the ocean calls

And still We tremble

In the hands of the shadows that move Us

Knowing that We will fall,

Knowing that We will go

Down

One day.

But in the end We are left,

We are left

To Ask,

What it is

That We Want.”

**[Note of the Translator: Not much is known of the Vulgaris, thought to be the very first beast of the Prehydropsam. Archaeological evidence suggests that it had no sail, and excavations have yet to reveal wheels: combined with the very specific pattern of these markings, this has led to the hypothesis that it may have spent its whole life in near immobility. Difficult as it is to comprehend, we must remember that life hasn’t always been associated with free movement: apparently this organism was functional enough that it was able to mark the ground – that is, if we ignore the few theories that claim most terrestrial markings have been fabricated in order to disrupt whatever is considered to be ‘true biological history’.**

**My translation of “shadow” is a bit uncertain here: it is hard to understand what is referred to, and to what extend it should be read as metaphorical. The rest of the transcription will offer more hypotheses, but as long as other diggings don’t confirm them, I prefer to let the matter stand.]**

** 2 nd Transcript:  Suspendisses  1 **

**(Duet for bassoons )**

_On the Evolution of Beasts; A Series of Observations on the Morality of Our Species_

It needs be remarked that, for all its natural advantages and the way it has sustained singularly over a long period of time, our species doesn’t seem to have shown a noticeable interest in the bettering of itself. This, perhaps, can be attributed to the rarity of interpersonal communication, as an organism typically doesn’t come across a vast quantity of markings in the sand in the course of its existence, and may not always be able to notice or understand them, depending on its constitution and the particular circumstances of their discovery. We must keep in mind that not all beasts are physically able to read markings, that marking is easily erased by heavy rains or the seasonal sand storms, and that one’s access to markings left by a particular beast is often incomplete, for the wind takes us wherever it pleases.

Now, actual encounters between organisms are, of course, extremely uncommon. It is no accident that one of the most common marking we came across, in our relentless examination of this territory, is the traditional expression ‘A beast shall never look upon another beast’. Most of us have lived and will continue to live alone.

And though it is but the natural state of things, we would like to propose that the physical isolation between members of our realm has led many of us to develop a specific sense of self that is inherently incurious and hostile to change. A large quantity of the markings we have collected consists in the usual praises to the wind, and fear of the Tide or _dodfall_. In a few occasions, markings revealed that their authors thought themselves to be the only creatures in the world. Aders can, as it is often the case, be pointed out as a notable exception to this

**[Note of the Translator: the text is discontinued here. The next few lines are styled quite differently from what precedes, the trait thinner, as if the limb that had traced them had been divided in two. The phenomenon repeats in this section on several occasions, see below. It then resumes normally.]**

_mostly because Aders are vain, insufferable jerks_

_we can’t really claim that, can we? One of the reasons we wanted to write about this was to take better account of the specificity of each sub-species, and their flying has…_

_oh they are specific indeed! Is the tone of their markings forgotten already? We shouldn’t let ourselves be influenced by the ideological weight of their fantasies, lest we encourage the biopolitical structure they seem to crave_

_but it is accurate to say that at least they do not fall victims to this dull, weak, mindless…_

_alright, but not at the cost of our ethics_

_it’s not as if they take the time to search the ground for markings anyway_

_it’s not as if any creature other than us take this time_

_there is no need to be so pessimistic, this project is important, we agreed on that, it might change things even if the task is heavy_

_but at least we’re here_

_of course we didn’t mean…_

_We know what we mean. We agree. In the end, we are enough._

Aders can be pointed as an exception to this situation, since they have, arguably, acquired more freedom of movement and frequently come across one another in the air. Cooperation, however, doesn’t seem to be such a common practice among them, and their own set of markings reveals a strong streak of individualism that is quite at odds with our conception of morality and progress.

It is our firm belief that beasts could, and indeed should utilize any occasion they have, be it chance or an act of will, to better their bodies through mechanical labour. Eroded tubes, wind stomachs, tails, hammers, individual wheels, sails can all be repurposed, under the right climatic conditions, to fulfil other, and even new, bodily functions. Most beasts aren’t even conscious that mechanical enhancements are a possibility, but once an organism begins to look for opportunities to access and change its parts, it will soon become clear that the occasions are not as rare as they seem. Any alteration of one’s course, be it through collision with pebbles, sticky algae, floated wood or shells, offers an instant of relative freedom that could be exploited; an attack by birds can also serve this purpose, frightening as it may be; the same goes for any sandstorm or remarkable weather.

The most profitable occasions for enhancement are, sadly, the most dangerous ones: the retrieval of lost limbs on hard sand at low tide, and collision with another beast. Those are the moments of learning; those are the moments to work on ourselves.

The crux of our argument will probably be better understood once we have explained the circumstances of our own existence. Many suns ago, we were but lone, common Suspendisses. It is true that we were already avid readers of markings, but it is not so surprising for a Suspendisse to be, given our natural constitution: feeling the sand is our main occupation.

One grey morning, though, as a terrible storm was upon us, we came into each other’s presence: one part pushed from the east and the other from the south at great speed by a northern wind so strong we thought we would explode into pieces and die there and then. We, who had not in our life crossed path with more than five or six other beasts, were suddenly in danger of colliding with one, one that was of our kin, without being allowed a minute of conversation. There was a moment of horrified suspension during which we considered what our lives had been so far, remembered the common markings we knew of, and realized, inevitably, how vast our ignorance remained.

But then, a sail gave way through the spinning movement the wind had created, and instead of a frontal crash, only our tails collided. Limbs were broken, but we held on. And, to our utter surprise, we didn’t experience _dodfall_ as we thought we were condemned to: instead, we continued to spin together, linked through a knot-work of tubes that had formed a hook inside of our tail, tangling the ropes of its articulation. We twisted and turned for days, caught in our cumulative momentum. But when the wind finally died down, we came to consider each other again, and it became apparent that we were now Two.

It is hard to convey the sheer joy and wonder of that very moment: to be able to contemplate another beast, and for it to be ourselves, for it to be, not a mere trembling of one’s hammer when feeling the sand for markings, not a distant presence on the horizon, not a vital threat to one’s equilibrium and a mortal danger to one’s course, but a growth of limbs, but an extension of our understanding of the world, a gush of wind multiplied in our insides, a myriad of new articulations to bend and stretch, to test the resistance of, new sounds made by new tubes combined, and our knowledge and experience suddenly clashing together and tumbling like the freshest net of algae as it rolls out of the sea to cling to the sand, expending its appendices in all directions as if claiming life, claiming its right to the ground for as long as it can.

Eternal breeze of the sacred machinery! It was as if our conscience blew up in its sails.

From then on, we have been able to navigate this realm with greater freedom than ever before: the way we are tied allows us to vary the angles we present to the wind, using one another to adjust our position, and thus we can establish our own course with more precision than most beasts, if the wind isn’t too strong. This is how we have develop our knowledge: from the day we have changed, we decided to begin searching for markings more methodically, to become proper researchers in the hope that our own work could one day serve to convince other readers to try and emulate, if they could, the very transformation we had experienced.

  
We believe we have been quite successful so far in our collection of remarkable markings, some of which are of great historical significance: in some instances we are quite convinced we have even located the original source of ancient tales numerous beasts have told to the sand as they run their inalterable Course (see further away the _Mulus Murder Ballad_ , 244 wheels to the east, 22 to the north). Others – the _Chorus of the Vulgaris_ being the quintessential example, since it is the oldest marking we know of – are more difficult to trace, but they repeat in so many sandbanks that we’ve been able to identify several notable variants. To interpret them would probably take a lifetime, but we intend to try and propose a commented version of our most remarkable finds once the present work is completed. But for now, it is the improvement of the body that occupies our time; enhancement of the mind will have to wait, but it will inevitably follow.

Indeed, our sustained reading of ancient texts has only reinforced our belief that all beasts should seek the opportunity to adapt and change. Otherwise, we are condemned to live shallow, inconsequential lives, tossed about from one place to the other by the capricious wind, and to ultimately disappear without traces, a mere drop of rain in the history of the world. Movement is, after all, at the core of our species’ existence, and it is time that we actively seek progress and agency by applying that very principle to ourselves. To quote a marking that will be familiar to most of our potential readers, perhaps it is at last time we ask ourselves ‘what it is that we want’.

In the following sections, we will put into details various techniques a beast can use to alter itself. Section 1 to 4 will expound on the basic mechanical principles on which the later… **[** **T** **ext** **discontinued].**

**3 rd Transcript : Uminami 1**

**(Trio for glass flutes, one slightly off-key)**

We – when the sun was in our corolla – found that the wind had brought us – the One With the Broken Seventeenth Rib – against a creature half-buried in the sand. It was long and hollow, absolutely motionless and we – the One With the Broken Seventeenth Rib – were at first horrified to feel it against our legs. At one extremity, a small, round mouth stood open to the wind, while its other end, larger and flat, was sealed. As our legs pushed and pushed against the unfortunate obstacle, the strange creature came into the open, and we – the One With the Broken Seventeenth Rib – only grew more puzzled. It seemed too small to have ever been properly alive, and yet not quite dead, something between a tube and a wind stomach, something new, or maybe so old it was somehow new again. We felt it with our own mouth, finding around its head pieces of torn fabric that resembled dried algae, and some incomprehensible marking, so shallow we had trouble reading it at all: NESTL PURE LIFE – 2 GAL.

This was not a Uminami. We knew there were many Uminamis running along the Beach: we had seen them sometimes, long and beautiful like us, bouncing from one clump to the other gracefully, as if the wind had played no role in their dance. This is also how we knew we were a ‘we’, a part of them. We longed to observe it again, for the vibrations it caused in the sand reached to us in a strange way. And we could not, sadly, observe the same phenomenon in ourselves. Which is to say that, when we were not in the presence of other Uminamis, we could not be certain we were beautiful like them – we, the One With the Broken Seventeenth Rib, could not be sure we were like them at all. There are moments, in this world, when the sun is glowing through clouds in multiple rays and the wind seems to be caressing us encouragingly, and we get to remember exactly what we are, our tubes cascading and clicking together effortlessly, our whole body a long, smooth curve of life, a perfect succession of joints, and we forget. We forget we are broken. We remember we are a Uminami.

Three times before, we had also felt an Ader in the sky above us. We were not an Ader, we knew, but on those three occasions, a great curiosity had elevated us, given more elasticity to our stroke as we felt the wind change above us as the Ader flew by. The Thing was not an Ader either.

The Thing, whatever it was, was preventing us from moving forward. We were beginning to grow afraid – if the wind stopped, we would be stuck against it for good, maybe fall down and our life would be over, our Course would have ended. All of this for a Thing that was not even articulated, had no wheels or sails, an absurd, listless corpse!

And then we thought. And we remembered.

We didn’t have to die about that one clog of matter. We remembered we were broken.

The Thing was so small it wasn’t too hard to make it slide inside our ribs, through the seventeenth which opened a larger gap in our chest: we wiggled and puffed up our corolla, afraid of a sudden change of wind that would have made us fall on our side to death. Pressing our underbelly against the ground finally dug up the Thing completely, and then it was in, out of the way, and we could move again. Suddenly the wind rose up, and as it filled our ribcage, the small creature glided along our joints, giving out a pleasant, flat vibration, until it got stuck in some cord and stilled.

As we resumed our course, the wind fresh in our corolla, we tried to consider how it felt, to have the Thing with us. There was something peculiar about it, and it reminded us of the time we had broken our rib. And we thought about this, too: how the Thing was lifeless and listless, and how it still didn’t move on its own, yet was moving with us now.

After a while, as the sun was disappearing under the sand, the wind receded to a lighter breeze, and the air found its way into its small, round mouth. It began to sing.

**4 th Transcript: the ‘Mulus Murder Ballad’, with a commentary from the 2nd Transcript**

**(Solo for trombone)**

I was never pushed, I was born gliding, I was born ahead of my Course, ahead of the wind

Perhaps.

I am nothing but speed and acrid movement and I run and run and I will never stop

Running

I was born on this line and I will follow it until the end of time

Until I can finally win this race

I will stop at nothing

For all I need, all I’ll ever want is to go faster

But

For some time now

My horizon hasn’t been clear

My line isn’t mine any more

And I see before me the back of my Enemy.

He joined the race by accident, when I was not focused, when I was lost in thoughts, when I was thinking of other things than

The Race

And suddenly he appeared in front of me, the same as me but

Different

Faster

No

Not faster

He cut through my line like a sandstorm through ancient markings

The same as me but

Not me

And everyday as the sun descends I can sense his tubes the marks of his wheels the air his sails push back at me

To slow me down.

I have never seen his front.

There is no limit to my hatred for him.

As long as the sun is up I see nothing but him

He never leaves any readable markings he never talks about me he never turns around

I must win the Race.

I will stop at nothing.

I will be the tempest and the wave and the tide

I will be the tide and I will pierced right through him

To claim the air filling the shapelessness of his tubes to claim the song that he keeps on singing

Not to me

I will stop at nothing.

I am coming closer.

I won’t crush his bones because they would slow me down.

I was never pushed, I was born gliding, I was born ahead of my Course, ahead of the wind

And I see before me the back of my brother

And I see before me the back of my enemy

And I am coming closer.

I am nothing but speed and acrid movement and I run and run and I will never stop

I will best him

And he will not best me.

I am coming closer.

I will push him I was never pushed I was born gliding

I

I

There’s something

There is a Hand on my Back.

IIIII

**[End of 4 th Transcript.]**

**[Beginning of commentary from the 2 nd Transcript.]**

The interpretation of the ‘Mulus Murder Ballad’ has historically suffered from the misleading title that is traditionally given to it. For there may well be a murder here, but whose? While this marking is often partially repeated by beasts during their course, at moments of great speed it would seem, this is the most complete version we’ve come across. We have reasons to believe it is the oldest in existence, and possibly the original telling: old, tattered tubes seem to have been buried at a short distance from the site of reading. Though we were unable to dig them up, due to a strong south wind, they looked like they could have belonged to a Mulus.

This, of course, raises the question of the fate suffered by the author: is the ballad a simple tale of jealousy between brothers, or the first, unsolved crime of our history?

The mention of the ‘hand’ is absent from most later versions, but its presence here seems decisive. Indeed the first beast were often pushed by creators, though this one seems adamant that it was not his case. Could it be that the creators, slow and clumsy as they were, tried to prevent the inevitable? Or did malevolence answer to malevolence? It is also unclear why the creators would have wanted to catch a beast they had never pushed in the first place.

To risk an hypothesis, we will say that this should be read as a cautionary tale: it confronts us to the mystery of the protagonist’s hatred for a creature made to his own image, and depicts competition as ultimately harmful to beasts. After all, speed is, in itself, mostly useless when it comes to survival. Speed does not always sustain movement better than slowness, and it is interesting to us than the Mulus that currently exist seem to be much slower than what the Ballad describes.

**[End of commentary.]**

**2 nd Transcript : Suspendisses 2**

**(Duet for bassoons)**

_Section 6: Of Dodfall, Death, and How They Could Be Prevented_

We are, in every respect and instance of life, both a strong and a fragile species. Under the right conditions, our Course can go on for as long as time itself, or rather for as long as our tubes will carry us. But how many of us, can we claim, have died of old age? The slightest thing, be it too round a rock, too slick an alga, too sharp a wind, and of course the Tide, can effectively kill us. If our Course is prevented in any way for a long period of time, life deserts us like a barnacle its shell. _Dodfall_ , the ancient word for death, carries with it this idea of immobility: falling is dying, in almost every case. We have heard, nevertheless, of beasts that were thought absolutely gone, having been still, stuck in the sand for many suns, who suddenly rose miraculously, thanks to a favourable east wind or even an energetic bird. But those instances are rare and mysterious, and most fallen beasts end up being pushed on harder sands, and towards the water, until the Tide takes them.

Free beasts will always fear the sea. The sea soaks our sails and breaks our limbs, and our empty tubes forever float on its surface without purpose, without the hope of ever being pieced together again. In this, water is not only a hostile realm, but sand’s opposite, an endless plane where any sort of coordinate movement is impossible. Is is partly to escape water, to curb the inevitable fate that brings us all back to the wave that will crush us, that we seek to promote education among our fellow creatures.

Though it would undoubtedly constitutes the greatest challenge our species has ever faced, and would require important collaboration and planning, we believe that it is conceivable that a barrier between us and the sea could be erected. Technical drawings for this construction will be found in Section 7.b of this work, as well as a detailed chart of the number and kind of beasts required to complete each task. We have already, as will become evident in the later Sections, established landmarks to this purpose on a respectable distance (over more than 600 suns of travel) and arranged piles of rocks and broken materials wherever we could to delineate the first posts from which a security net could be set. Such a project, disproportionate as it sounds, would in effect alter the meaning of death for the entire species. We would still die, of course, but we would certainly die differently, of different causes, and probably much later than we typically do. And who’s to say that, when they reach the barrier, and if the wind is lenient, fallen beasts won’t be able to rise again? We urge our readers to imagine what an occasion for junction and thus for self-improvement this project could be: a place to meet front to front, to exchange limbs, to learn new methods for tying knots, for fixing wheels. Compared to this, the legendary Tower of Bones that is evoked in Aderian markings (see 457 wheels south, 96 west) will appear as the Necropolis it always was.

As much as death is a prevalent topic among us, and is probably prevalent on every beast’s conscience for most of its life, it seems to us that it is above all extinction that should be feared. It is, as a concept, more difficult to grasp, since it requires to think more ahead, and to detach our mind from the wind more than most of us tend to do. But it is not without precedent, and therefore should be taken seriously. The case of the creators – the hands that are thought to have first pushed the beasts into existence, to have assembled and torn their limbs apart – can be interpreted as a warning. Certainly, the creators were heavy, ill-adapted beings: their inability to ride the wind was probably their downfall, chained to the earth like rocks as they were, and we would tend to think of them as barely living, if not for the details of hands, the very hands that are mentioned in ancient markings like the _Mulus Murder Ballad_ where they seem to play such an ominous role. Those hands, much as a hook, seem to have been able to modified beasts finely, and potentially more quickly than we manage – when we manage – now: their existence is perhaps what makes the creators less immediately inferior than what we may be inclined to think. Which is why we should regard their apparent extinction with more gravity than we usually do: feeble as they were, soft and pulpy, they were still builders, even if they were only able to initiate the conception of something greater than themselves, rather than to seek improvement for their own kind.

Furthermore, defects in evolution are not unheard of in our species either: while the Percipiere Excelsus has become a mere legend in this age, evidence (see 9869 wheels south-west; 282 north) suggests than this subspecies truly existed for a while, before its many faults led to the disappearance of most of its specimens. Various markings (see 789 east, 85 south; 662 north-east, 45 west; 985 north-east, 121 south) refer to an ‘Immobile Giant’, an apparently mythical creature that had been given all the gifts but was so tall it could not use them without risking _dodfall_. We deplore that no markings that could be attributed to a Percipiere Excelsuses have been identified so far: if any exists, we expect it to be quite shallow and elliptic, much like the _Chorus of the Vulgaris_ , another motionless breed.

_it is difficult to conceive what this must have been like_

_we don’t understand_

_to be a Vulgaris. To barely be able to feel the world you live in_

_they must have felt they were constantly on the verge of death. It was quite a lyrical species after all_

_we disagree that poetry is only the language of the dying_

_we’ve already had this conversation: life is in markings that goes forward, that has a purpose and a firm grasp on facts_

_our meeting wasn’t only due to facts_

_it was, in a superior way_

_no, no. it was more than that. It was enough._

_it was_

_we really should get back to work_

**3 rd Transcript: Uminami 2**

**(Trio for glass flutes, all in tune** )

We – with Our Broken Rib and Our New Stomach Piece – have come to think that maybe we are not dancing any more. Two suns ago, we saw a Uminami again, its long shadow undulating like the bubbly, white end of the waves, that part of the tide that almost feels like air, almost feels like we – with Our Broken Rib and Our New Stomach Piece – could run on hard sands without fear. It was even faster than before, still as beautiful, but the vibrations we felt contemplating it had change: they were lower, went deeper, and followed the fresh, idle pace the world has taken for us lately. It occurred to us that maybe we had forgotten we were a Uminami.

But now it felt as if we were unwilling to remember. We had expected to be more Broken than we were before, to have to provide more of an effort to recognize ourselves, but eventually the effort didn’t have to been made. Perhaps because we – with Our Broken Rib and Our New Stomach Piece – had found other thoughts to think while we followed our course.

It was a slower course, somehow, which means it gave us more time to contemplate the movements of the sun, to memorize the position of the stars, and to listen. There was a lot to listen to, for it was always singing, that small, round mouth inside of us, singing strange tales, different tales than those of the markings in the sand, tales that no beasts must have heard before. We thought, surely it is because our Thing is not a beast. But there was an uncertainty about it, about the singing of our Stomach Piece, that was not properly alive and yet that sang like it had a message to deliver. We had read, we think, that when the creators assembled the first beasts, they had done so with a message in mind, but nobody remembered what the message was, and if it was worth remembering, since the creators weren’t a very interesting life form to begin with. We have never seen a creator. Our Thing is not a creator. The creators are long gone.

The song is always echoing in our ribs, even the broken one. There is poetry in the words, and we like to listen. We like the little round mouth that is ours.

Whenever the wind changes, the song changes with it, but lately it has become more and more a song about the sea, the sea and what it promises us, the beasts who crawl the earth without ever being allowed to descend. We do not know what it means, to descend, and the more we listen to it, the more we understand that perhaps we do not know what it is, the sea.

We are not a great reader: we forget. But we think that maybe, long ago, even before Our Seventeenth Rib got broken, we found some markings in the sand, the wet sand, that told something like that; something about the tide, and where it could take us.

Our concern is that our Thing is constantly gathering more sand. It goes in as we run, and never goes out, along with small rocks, or even the deeper crust of mud that sometimes shows on the surface when it rains – and when it rains, the sand inside us become heavier. As it fills, its singing changes.

We are becoming heavier.

**5 th Transcript: Ader**

**(Solo for pan flute)**

The sand is linear, but the sky is limitless. There isn’t much more to consider in the end, no, though I certainly think more about the earth than the earth ultimately deserves it.

I am the First of my realm and the master of my Course, I am one of the Above, yes. I owe this to no one but my own, nothing but the solidity of my ropes, the splendour of my wings opening like the rays of the sun over a sea of clouds, the finer structure of my wind-filled bones, and the agility of my legs, that can chase away any clumsy, horrible bird. Oh, to one day be rid of those sacks of wet, fluffy rags, those useless menaces! But I digress.

It has come to my attention than beasts of the Below, which is to say most beasts, didn’t properly grasp the importance of the sky and its vastness, much more open and unpredictable than the grainy, sandy flatness they are familiar with. How to even begin to explain those dimensions to beings who have only known the monotonous roads of a beach? It is not an easy task that I have undertaken, no, but I will try to be as clear as I can despite the complex structure of Aderan communication. From what I can observe daily from my position, my zenith, I don’t expect this to be understood by a lot of beasts, no. Only by the most enlightened ones.

First of all, you must remember that the sky is where the wind comes from. The idea may sound novel, but as a local specimen, I can assure you that it is absolutely the case, yes, an airtight truth. The wind comes from the sky, and though we profit of its strength to orient ourselves and to roam the world as we please, we Ader have come lately to realize that as we did so, we influenced its various flows. We add to them, yes, be them westerlies or easterlies, and of course sea breezes: we nourish their intensity as well as their exact direction. I won’t trouble you with the technicalities of wind shear or differentials in air pressure or aeolian processes, and the complex calculations that go into such a study, no, for this is after all an Aderian problem and shall therefore remain an Aderian responsibility. We shall carry it, yes, its weight as well as its fatigue. To be the highest of the highs can be ever so tiring.

But it means only one thing: when an Ader flies above you, when an Ader flaps a wing, your Course is forever altered. And the landscape, the disposition of the sand as you know it, changes as well.

A simple, perfect wing, moving forward and backward, yes. And suddenly the beast that was, against its will, heading for the sea, is saved as a grain of salt is displaced and makes its wheels turns ever so slightly. A life for a grain of salt and the flip of a wing, yes. I would say that there is in fact some poetic truth in this old saying used on the land: those that are flown over by an Ader are called to a greater destiny.

I want you to reflect on this, on what it means. Consider what we could accomplish, with a more detailed understanding of this process. For now, powerful as we may appear, us Ader have trouble detaching ourselves from the earth completely. At least most of us do: I, for one, am using every moment of my time to train myself to fly closer to the sun, yes. And who knows when a sandstorm will come, violent enough that I’ll be able to ride it and rise up, high enough to be finally able to see it all under my legs, yes, like the perfect, complete picture it was always meant to be. Then I’ll be able to watch each and every living beast, to map their position, to predict their course and to decide how I wish to change it.

The possibilities are endless, but there is one idea that has always been prevalent among Aders, an idea that we pass to one another whenever we cross paths in the sky, a legend that touches on the great solitude that plagues beasts, and how it could be alleviated. We would like to help you all. The Aders, for a very long time now, have wished to build a tower.

It would require to make the course of many beasts converge in one precise point, yes, a nexus of sociability on good, solid ground, as far away from the sea as we can manage, yes, so that even giant waves could not knock our work down, no. For the foundations, we’d need the tallest specimens, ideally Percipieres, but those have not been seen in ages. Long beasts of the Suicideem era could always be straightened up, they were always at a disadvantage in terms of equilibrium, and their life often is as short as their bodies are big. From there, it doesn’t matter much which sort we use, no, anything that would pile up properly, with the help of ropes and cables that can always be despoiled from one Suspendisse or other. It would be the end of isolation, yes, a new realm connecting the ground and the sky, a city of beasts forever conversing, crushed together and stretching toward the clouds! Oh yes, I can see it all. When collisions would become useless, Aders could learn to pick up a beast directly from the beach to carry it to the summit: the tower would grow indefinitely. It would be dangerous, but this is a sacrifice we are ready to make, yes, and I trust that the excellence of my wings, the solidity of my joints will carry me through this hardship, until the tower can stand for every beast, adamant against the wind, protected from the Tide, and so high, so high...

We could crash thousands together, one ball of broken limbs after the other until they are tangled in a web of interconnected bones, yes, a giant net of life, huge and magnificent, yes, blazing under the sun and high enough that an Ader could perch on its summit to finally, finally find some rest.

**[Note of the Translator: this text shows, in places, traces of different syntactical structures than those commonly used in other fragments, especially in the last part, where the lines also become larger and shallower, as if the author was barely brushing against the sand. Those parts are consistent with the other Aderian markings we know of, and will no doubt be very precious to help deciphering them: to this day, we have been unable to establish a comprehensive grammar of that new language.]**

**2 nd Transcript: Suspendisses 3**

**(Duet for bassoons)**

_Conclusion; That Evolution is a Comparative Process._

For our closing remarks, we’d like to take a moment to reflect on the notion of community. What can it mean for us, as a species, to be together? Some of the most vivid elements of our culture’s mythos, like the Speculators’ double tales or the Aders’ prophecies, explore this theme, even though the later could also be interpreted under a more apocalyptic light, alluding at a Great Collision that remains, it is true, a statistical possibility.

The subject of this reflection has been dictated to us by the recent discovery of a series of markings that could pass for another _Chorus of the Vulgaris_. Its authenticity still needs to be asserted, since it is quite different in style from the well-know first _Chorus_ , but the quality of the marking is remarkably similar: if not of Vulgaris origin, it must have been produced by a beast of their era, or at the very least by a creature with a strong interest in History and quite a vivid imagination. The difficulty here is that we do not know, nor have we ever heard of such a beast, apart from ourselves. If there is a lone philosopher travelling across this land, they are yet to make themselves known.

This unexpected find has encouraged us to examine more closely what we knew of ancient beasts. A close reading of the different versions of the original _Chorus_ suggests that the Vulgaris may have seen itself as a collection of limbs, the individual tube serving as a sort of yardstick of the self. This is of course pure conjecture on our part, and a conjecture we’re only able to make because of our particular history. Though our memories of a time when we did not exist together are now rather blurred, we think it possible that we entertained a closer sense of proximity with other members of our sub-species, even though we rarely met any. Recently we asked ourselves why this was the case, and what role this sense of kinship could have played on a more global scale.

We’ve explained at great length (see Sections 2, 3, 8 and 11) that we viewed evolution not necessarily as a competitive process, but as a mode of reformulation of the self, sustained by knowledge and headed toward progress. It is perhaps time for us to add that its most crucial mechanism is, in our opinion, one of comparison. The self cannot recognize itself, or indeed evolve, if it cannot compare to anything that is not the self. That operation, it would seem, does not necessarily have to be conducted outside of what we would perceive as the limits of one body, nor inside those of a species.

Being together would seem to be, from a scientific point of view, the deciding condition of a long series of differentiations. Seen under such a light, the infinite variations we have been able to observe between markings, between sub-species or specimens all begin to make sense in a fascinating way. The Vulgaris and its contained multitude; the Mulus’s antagonistic distinction; even the Ader’s oligarchic posture: all perfect in their singularity.

In this, one information remains out of our reach: the mystery of what would constitute our own distinguishing attribute. After all, we do not know of others that resemble us, even if we admittedly long for such a meeting, and though we’ve come to think of ourselves as a different ‘we’, it is difficult for us to ascertain our exact nature. Perhaps if we continue to explore this world, we will finally come to find such a rare specimen. Perhaps our own markings will help in this endeavour. We doubt that any Ader will ever take upon himself to falsify the odds, if that creed is anything more than haughty make-believe. In this, as in everything else, we will have to wager.

But if that specimen can never be identified, we wouldn’t consider it a personal failure. After all, we’ve read so much, and we’ve mark the sand in so many places by now, that it would be somewhat detrimental to the universal quality of our work to give pre-eminence to such a private matter. Besides, a peculiar habit has emerged from the regularity of our practices. As we read and as we mark, we like to think of a presence, someone reading the lines with us. It is a comforting thought.

To close this work by echoing the very markings that have influenced this final stance, we would like to suggest that, as a species as well as individuals, it is perhaps important that we ask ourselves, whatever our physical forms may presently be, and wherever we might be headed, what it could effectively mean, to ‘stand on one’s own’.

_that was good, wasn’t it?_

_yes. Yes it was. We are finally done._

**3 rd Transcript: Uminami 3**

**(Two glass flutes and an ivory piccolo)**

We’ve always thought ourselves to be broken, we’ve always felt it, we’ve always, always thought it until we found you. We found you, and you were dead as can be, but we loved you then, and we love you now. From the moment the sun grows out of the foreshore to the moment the stars pale in the sky as if washed out by a large blanket of foam, we will run with you and we will carry you as you carry us forward. You’ve told us of the water, of the presence that fills, of the freedom of currents, and you taught us the way of answering the call. The tide does not take those who come prepared, the tide does not take those who can forget what they used to be: we will take the tide and what come afterwards, we will take the water and what comes afterwards.

We will sing together and I will sing with you

To the sea,

To the sea,

To the sea.

**6 th Transcript: Gospel of the Vulgaris (?)**

**(One ocarina in a deep, lost cave)**

So it happened, and so we tell.

It is said that the first living _beest_ had only four tubes and one membrane. And it flew, bound by a string of plastic, hanging from one the creators – weak, heavy, useless forms – and the wind trembled with vibrations.

And the wind said.

And the wind was saying.

‘ _Look, Mum, it’s standing on its own.’_

**[Note of the Translator: I’m afraid nothing can be added concerning this fragment’s authenticity. Dating seems consistent, but that’s about the only thing we know. ‘Beest’ appears to be an archaic form for ‘beasts’, resembling ‘dodfall’ in its style. The last line, as you can see, is incomprehensible.]**

**2 nd Transcript: Suspendisse 4**

**(One lone bassoon)**

_Today we’ve been broken._

_No._

_We’ve been_

_Separated._

_It was raining, and there was a stronger wind than usual and we were travelling toward the site to check to read again to make sure to plan ahead to reach the end of the line to build a net to explore to understand to better our..._

_Our thoughts are out of joint._

_There was a stronger wind than we anticipated, but it didn’t matter much as we were heading toward a site of ancient markings, to the new Vulgaris markings, to try and understand what it was about. We were disagreeing on how it should be interpreted, we were arguing that it could be apocryphal but we were also arguing that…_

_I forgot._

_The argument was a lively one, and we were not on our guards: suddenly there was a rock, a large rock, a pile of rocks standing just in front of us. We tried to open our sails, to turn around, we tried to correct the angle, but it was too late. We were front to front, for the last time we were front to front and one part got caught by the obstacle, as the knot that tied us together broke open under the speed. We were carried away, unable to resist, while simultaneously we were falling down against the rock, legs giving way, trying to reach out, failing, understanding perhaps that it was the last moment, the very last moment and that we would never contemplate ourselves again._

_And then the wind was raging, and we couldn’t see each other any more._

_I think I’d rather be dead._

_It’s been suns now, I don’t know how many, I haven’t bothered to count. It’s still raining. To be honest, I’m not even sure if I’m capable of counting any more. I’m not doing anything. The wind is swinging me left and right, I follow and I obey like the beast I am, never minding, never questioning, useless as the creators used to be, ran over by my own Course._

_I believe we are, in this life, mostly the product of chance. I believe that the wind and the sea and sky do not care. As much as we try and struggle to shake our sails and dictate our own path, we are still made of the ropes that tie us to this realm, to this Beach, to the solitude of these pools of rain. And our greatest pains, with our best laid plans, get absorbed and silenced by the layers of the sand until we are heard no more._

_We were, we were conscious of it, an improbability. But we were_ enough _._

_I wonder where you are. I wonder if, in the invisible labyrinth that is our course, I will ever find my way back to that rock, to those exact coordinates, and if I will find you there._

_I wonder what will become of me._

**3 rd Transcript: Uminami 4**

**(Solo for olifant)**

**[This transcript was retrieved as our team was preparing to descend back at the end of their mission. One of the sensors identified blurred markings along the natural lines of the receding tide. As they progress toward the water, the lines become shallower, until they disappear entirely. Our working hypothesis is that they were able to survive in such difficult conditions because of how deep they originally were: they must have been left by a particularly heavy creature, far heavier than the common beast.**

**Given its content, this fragment is bound to stir great controversy in our community. For my part, I see no reason to doubt its authenticity, especially given it is consistent with the rest of the Uminami Transcript. If attested, this could shed a decisive light on the origins of our species: our expedition, underfunded as it was, may well have uncovered the story of one of our great ancestors.]**

Finally I am nearing the shore. This was a long journey, in body and in mind. I have changed as I looked for the right wind, for the path that would lead me here. At the end of my course and at the beginning of my dive. I have become too slow for this earth. My stomach is drawing deep, infertile furrows as I progress. I pray that no other beast will meet them and die within. I used to be broken. But now I am a stranger to my realm. An impossibility. A single monster of aberrant proportions. It is as it should be.

The sand is hard with certainty under my legs. The songs may be mistaken, but I still have to go. It is not enough to hear of the terrible beauty of the abyss. Not enough to dream of what lives under the surface. Not enough to feel that the currents can be tamed better than the winds. I believed the tales I told myself. And in the end I didn’t want to let them go.

I am entering the water. I – the One That Goes Under – am stepping into the sea and the water is entering me, filling my stomach at last, giving me the last pull I needed. And already I feel that my legs are giving way, that I am falling forward, gliding along my natural slope, the tide gently rocking me back as shells rattle against my tubes and algae come to embrace me, rocking me forward, as slowly, smoothly, like a stone denser than the core of the earth, and returning to it, I begin my Descent.

Down I will fall, and down I will sail, until at last I reach the floor.

**[End of transcript.]**


End file.
